Run
by ignis-avis
Summary: Somehow, she knew, she just knew; by some eccentric sixth sense – maybe it was her imagination, perhaps a twisted trick of the light – but silhouettes traced her paths, weaving in and out of sight, just beyond her reach. - Hermione Granger, a stolen past, and a chase. /AU; no magic/ One-shot.


**A/N: Well hey, it's 2015!**

**This was initially a short original work of mine (it was schoolwork) but I wanted to share it so I changed the name of the main character. **

**Argh, I haven't written in _ages_ and this is...mediocre, at best. I don't know whether people are partial to scenery description, so this is an experiment for me, really. **

**Without further ado...**

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><p><em>Five years ago, seven people disappeared.<em>

_Their names; untraceable. It was as if they never even existed in the first place. _

The scant few glimpses of daylight chased the last remnants of bruising cobalt night away as one lone figure ambled through the lingering shadows; her flighty paces traced a meandering slush-saturated path down the pavement. With a placid grin, the girl tilted her face towards the silver-dappled clouds, drinking in the view with gleaming, eager eyes.

Her name was Hermione Granger. Stubborn, shrewd and sarcastic, with a temper as wild as her tousled hair.

Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, currently staring at the sky with an uncharacteristic expression of utter childish rapture.

Her boots rasped against frost-laced gravel; the rhythmic crunch of her languid footsteps echoed in the drowsy, early morning quiet. The crisp chill of the breeze nibbled gently at her fingertips, staining the tip of her nose ruddy crimson against the sallow hue of her freckled skin. She was swathed in a heavy overcoat that smelled of pine resin and roasted coffee and _winter_; the light _scritch-scratch_ of her coarse scarf chafed against the nape of her neck. Snowflakes tumbled in all their glittering glory to the ground, splashing the slush-soaked streets in scintillating crystal shards. Shoulders shaking with subdued chuckles, she revelled in the soft tickle of snow in her hair, strewn in glistening constellations on her eyelashes. Bland sunlight barely caressed the skin of her flushed cheeks, illuminating the ice that crawled in gleaming tessellations over the drooping, velveteen petals of a wilting hyacinth.

Gnarled trees stooped, crooked branches splintering under the weight of the snow; their ridged, moss-spattered bark frozen in a thousand disgruntled grimaces. Around her, the fields stretched in an endless blanket of pristine white; the silence was mesmerisingly serene. It was as if the whole world was caught in an endless sleep; a frozen fragment in time. She was a mere blemish smothered in a bottomless moon-white void; eternal, ethereal_._

But still –

_Something's not quite right here. _

_Crack. Snap. _

There it was again – that scuffling sound, that whisper of quickening footsteps just half a second behind her own. And yet from her peripheral vision, there was no one. The snow-strewn streets were desolate; a blank sheet of paper; an empty canvas.

Somehow, she knew, she just _knew_; by some eccentric sixth sense – maybe it was her imagination, perhaps a twisted trick of the light – but silhouettes traced her paths, weaving in and out of sight, just beyond her reach.

_Breathe. Deep breaths. Relax, calm down, it's all in your head. _

The muffled squelching of viscous half-melted snow, the heavy plodding of footsteps; again. Hermione inhaled sharply, blood thundering in her ears as her knuckles clenched into defensive fists. Cautiously she tilted her head to the side and _there_ – a figure shrouded in shadow.

_Definitely not in my head this time. _

Fear slithered up her throat like a sinuous snake, snatching the breath from her lungs as her grip tightened upon the leather strap of her schoolbag and her muscles tensed on reflex, screaming _run-run-get-away-now- _

_Just go._

Finally, she succumbed to the siren murmur of pure instinct; sprinting down the streets as snowflakes fluttered lithely upon the breeze, whirling and mingling around her in a frantic dance. They whispered as they whistled through the air, like a thousand minute murmuring voices building in a resounding crescendo.

_Run, Hermione._

_He's following you. _

Her boots skidded upon the slushy gravel, the hurried _thunk-thunk _of her reverberating footsteps thudding in tandem with her racing heartbeat. Fiery, adrenaline-saturated blood thrummed through her veins; the whole world shrank to the deafening howl of cold wind slamming against her face like a blade of ice, dragging salted tears from her dilated pupils. It was glorious and euphoric and bewildering; the landscape melted into a dizzying haze of white upon grey upon black. Coherent thought was evaded long ago. The only clarity in her conscience was the pure, raw instinct to _run_ until her pursuer gave up, until all reality vanished behind her.

Acutely aware of the ever-increasing pace of her pursuer, Hermione charged doggedly forwards; the translucent tear-tracks slithering down her cheeks, her lips, her nose. Exhaustion had faded into dull numbness; the voices in her head chanted at her to stumble, to fall.

_No. _

_No, I can't. _

With a final, desperate spurt of speed, Hermione surged down the streets, weaving through darkened alleys as she watched tranquil countryside morph into blaring, urban city. The cacophony of blaring traffic and the lurid stench of exhaust fumes overwhelmed her acute senses. Plunging further into the intricate labyrinth of deserted footpaths, she careened clumsily over the uneven cobblestones –

_Fall. You're going to fall-fall-fall – _

She was sent sprawling to the ground, the buckle of her schoolbag wrenched apart under her own weight. With a sharp jolt, her head snapped backwards, loose grit filling her mouth. Pain bloomed from her shoulders, spreading like red-hot lava and it was all Hermione could do not to scream as she gnashed her teeth and dug her nails into her palms fiercely.

Abruptly, a hand clamped around the collar of her coat and yanked ruthlessly, sending her stumbling forwards as nausea sucked at her skull. One flabby arm around her waist, her arms, one braced around her neck; she could feel his oily breath rasping against the skin of her ear. Shivering in revulsion, Hermione kicked furiously, desperately; the lapels of his bedraggled leather jacket were soaked in the pungent smell of cheap whiskey and cloying sweat.

"Don't even dare." The virulent growl of his voice vibrated against her neck; she swallowed hard, her stomach tightening in wrenching terror. Hermione struggled for breath, her twitching fingers splayed and languid against the fabric of her sleeve. Erratic, kaleidoscopic blotches danced skittishly in her vision – her head pounded dizzyingly and her limbs were sluggish, as if she were drowning in molasses.

Her lungs were made of lead and poison and cigarette smoke. With every strangled breath, Hermione felt her consciousness slipping away like crumbling leaves in the wind, like sand grains sliding between the grooves of her fingertips. It was all too easy to just give up now, just relax, just let go –

_I can't. _

_I won't._

His grip was clumsy; stubby fingers strained against her mouth, muffling her furious gasps. Frantically her tear-glazed eyes darted to and fro, her forehead knitted in determined spider-webs as she fought, her chest heaving in helpless, hapless pants. Her knuckles tightened, the tendons protruding from her near translucent skin like iron nails; her fingers twisted into crooked claws that ripped and gouged and wrenched until all of a sudden she was free, she was stumbling away.

Cautiously, she glanced tentatively back at his hunched form, at the scraggly half-shadow of stubble on his chins, red welts puckering against his arms, his neck, his face.

_Did I do that? _

And then she was running, she was sucking cold air in grateful gulps, she was exhausted as the adrenaline drained from her system. Gingerly she traced the curve of her neck, wincing slightly at the dull pain pulsating from the fingerprint-shaped bruises blossoming like tender roses against her skin.

She should've felt relieved as she jogged further and further away; but there was only the gnawing, irrefutable terror snaking in the pit of her stomach, clenching an iron fist of fear around her throat.

_Whoever that crazed man was, he knows who I am; he probably isn't the only one either._

_And there was something else…_

That mark on his forearm, that brand. The obsidian ink seeping into his mottled skin, licking and curling in intricate, skittering spider-webs; those words, those letters, staring back at her like a single unblinking eye.

_Ipsa scientia potestas est._

_Knowledge itself is power. _

_Something happened five years ago; seven people vanished without a single clue. _

_And somehow, they reappeared; five years later – with no past, no present, no future. _

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><p><em>I need to know what happened that night.<em>

The bushy-haired girl sauntered into the school with an air of taciturn haughtiness; she paid no heed to the suspicious glances and pointed glares tracing her path down the narrow corridor. Whispers of her name filled the air; the rumours were as fanciful as always, and she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes in derision.

_The Lioness, _they called her, that demeaning nickname.

_She's like dry ice; get close and you'll be scalded. _

_Granger? Oh, yeah, that freak. She appeared out of nowhere, no files, no recorded past..._

Her knuckles tightened on the bag strap and she clenched her jaw, quickening her pace; the reverberation of her heels clacking against the floor thankfully drowned out the murmuring voices that followed her footsteps.

"Are you alright, Hermione? You seem a little… absent-minded."

"Hmm?" Abruptly, she glanced upwards, her eyes wide and deceivingly innocuous; laughing with a casual lilt to her voice.

"No, I'm fine, really... class is starting soon, so I'll see you at break, Ginny!" Hermione stifled a wince; her voice was an octave too high and she was simpering, quite frankly, and _for God's sake, she even giggled!_

_They're going to suspect; or maybe they always have. _

With a tedious sigh, she turned away; her brow knitted in irritation as she pinched the bridge of her nose, recalling the events of the morning.

_Cerberus. The three-headed beast who held people's past, their present, their future. _

_Cerberus; the criminal organisation that stole seven identities; five years ago. _

Slowly her lips curled in a wry, sardonic smirk; her glinting eyes narrowed in grim satisfaction.

_Found you._

**FIN.**

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><p><strong>So how was it? Leave a review down below and let me know!<strong>

**...Did that rhyme? Okay.**

**Thanks to all those who faved my last story, _Proven Wrong_.**

**I have a few requests from people, and I promise to get working on those as soon as I can, but updates will be erratic at best. **

**:D **


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